


A Place of No Return

by lannisters



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe, Alternative Title: the Champion and Inky's Adventures in the Fade, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke and the Inquisitor get stuck in the Fade, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, In the Fade, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Major Character Injury, Multi, Purple Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannisters/pseuds/lannisters
Summary: Hawke is trapped in the Fade, but he's not alone.Based on the prompt: a very stressed Inquisitor is stuck in the Fade with a very sarcastic Hawke and has to figure out how to get them the hell out of there. And along the way the two might just become best friends. Maybe. If the Inquisitor doesn't feed Hawke to the demons first.





	A Place of No Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyss/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big shout out to allyss. thanks for the awesome prompt, girl! i had a lot of fun writing this. it always bugged me how quickly hawke took off in the game. i'm always like nooo come back be my BFF! 
> 
> note - this is unbeta'ed so if you notice any mistakes please lemme know.

“Do you think it mattered, Hawke? Do you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.”

The Nightmare’s voiced washed over them, once more lifting the fair hairs on her arms. The Nightmare’s taunts were directed at the Champion this time. The slight falter in his step the only sign that he had heard. But his expression – it gave nothing away. He didn’t unravel, didn’t show his fear, just made some snarky response that would’ve made Varric laugh if he was there. Evelyn, begrudgingly, had to respect him for that. The others weren’t quite as good at maintaining their composure.

The Spirit – Divine Justinia – whatever it was – aided them, helped them through the Nightmare demon’s little games, giving her the hope she needed that they’d somehow make it out alive. The others – she was worried about them. Not once had she seen Cassandra falter, show fear, until this day. Dorian wasn’t fairing much better; he put up a good façade but she could see the glimmer of fear in his eyes. And Sera -

Sera, spitting curses under her breath, tried to notch an arrow with trembling hands. Evelyn placed a consoling hand on her shoulder, attempting a smile.

“It won’t be long now. We’re almost there.”

Sera shook her hand off of her shoulder, lips curling in a snarl, and stalked ahead. Evelyn couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t what she had signed up for. Hell, this wasn’t what _any_ of them had signed up for.

Lighting struck somewhere in the far distance, followed soon after by the rumbling of thunder. She had no idea how long they’d been trapped here, walking and fighting endlessly through this hellscape. She had no way of knowing what time it was; there was no sun, only the endless, swirling green sky. Time didn’t seem to be real here. She couldn’t bear to think of the others back at the battle, fighting, no doubt imagining the worst. All she could do was hope that the battle was won, that they didn’t think they were dead, that they hadn’t given up hope…

“Inquisitor,” that dark, sneering voice came again. A cold shiver ran down her spine. It felt as if the demon was whispering in her ear, breathing down her neck. “You are weak, Inquisitor, a helpless child, faltering under all that weight on your shoulders. All the hopes you carry, all the fears you fight – you will fail. Your dreams will turn to dust. Your hopes to ash. It’s only a matter of time. Whatever you think you are doing, whatever you hope to accomplish, it will be for naught; in the end only failure awaits you…"

Evelyn sighed, giving her head a firm shake. Not long now… the rift – their way out – was getting closer and closer.

“You couldn’t even save your brother.” The Nightmare said, its unnatural voice quieter, almost a soft. Somehow that was worse. Its final blow cut the deepest. “What makes you think you can save any of them?”

Evelyn closed her eyes. The Anchor rippled, shooting sparks of green light. It pulsed, like a heartbeat, and Maker, it _hurt_. It hurt like it hadn’t since the very beginning, before they’d closed the Breach. Being there, in the Raw Fade, seemed to amplify it, make it all the more stronger and unpredictable. She curled the fingers of her left hand into a fist, dimming the unnatural green light, and took a deep breath.

“Inquisitor?”

She opened her eyes and met Cassandra’s gaze. They had all stopped. They were all staring at her, even the Champion. She couldn’t read Hawke’s expression, but the others – there was no hiding the worry and concern on their faces. For a moment Warden Stroud looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

Evelyn gritted her teeth.

“Let’s keep moving.” She said and uncurled her fingers, trudging ever onwards.

Evelyn gripped her sword tightly in her right hand and refused to let the demon’s words get to her. But, like it or not, they’d struck a nerve, cut deep. The monster had put words to her greatest fears and insecurities and taunted her with them. She felt exposed, vulnerable. She hated it. She wasn’t sure she knew how to brush the feeling aside like Hawke had.

When at last they reached the rift, she poured her anger into the fight, into tearing down every spider and demon that came close. The Nightmare’s words were drowned out by the sounds of battle. Sera was stood above them, her back to the rift, raining down arrows, and Dorian stood to her right, battling a Despair demon with Cassandra. She couldn’t see Stroud through the horde of demons surrounding her.

A ward swirled around her when a terror demon unexpectedly burst up in front of her, the glimmer of magic unfamiliar to her. One glance to her left confirmed what she had surmised – the Champion met her gaze and nodded once before returning his attention to the fray. Evelyn drove her sword into the demon, Hawke’s protective ward swirling steadfast around her.

“They keep coming!” Hawke laughed. “It’s like they _want_ to die!”

Evelyn twisted, moving in a deadly dance, fighting her way towards the rift. She was exhausted, but she ploughed on, refusing to let up for even a second. Her sword and her armour were stained, covered in gore and thick black ichor. It would be a nightmare to get out, once this was all over. Hawke stood to her left, twirling his staff, unleashing a wave of fire, sending all the demons in its path up in flames.

“Is that really the best you can do?” The Champion threw back his head and laughed when he skewered a demon with his staff blade, making her roll her eyes.

The Spirit – the Divine – had given them precious time. If they were going to get out, it was now or never. Hawke was still by her side, closer than before, spearing a Shade with a shard of ice. Cassandra and Sera had already gone through, only Dorian lingered, looking down at her with flames curling around his fingers, with worry in his eyes. She waved for him to go and he nodded, hesitating for only a brief moment before he followed the others and disappeared through the rift.

Stroud had caught up to her, was running with her and Hawke, when, from the swirling black fog, emerged a giant, monstrous creature. Evelyn paused, realising that the demon wasn’t moving towards them, it was making its way towards the rift.

“It’s trying to get through the rift!”

“Well, we’d best hurry then. Chip, chop, Inquisitor.” Hawke replied, glib somehow. She met his gaze and he smirked, looking entirely unfazed by their situation. Not for the first time, Evelyn had to wonder about him – how everything seemed to be a joke to him, the once Champion of Kirkwall. Had he been cracking jokes when he defeated the Arishok? When he killed Cullen’s former Knight-Commander?

“We need to clear a path -” Stroud called from ahead of them. The Warden was almost at the rift but he stopped and turned. He looked from them to the demon and then back. “Inquisitor -”

“Go – I’ll -” Hawke began to say, but the ground shook, a sudden burst of energy throwing them both off of their feet. Evelyn hit the ground hard, knocking the air from her lungs. She could taste dirt and blood in her mouth. Something sharp was digging into her side, piercing through a weak spot on her armour. It felt like little more than a pinch compared to everything else she’d put her body through that day. She groaned, her ears ringing, as she rolled herself onto her side.

Hawke was lying several feet away from her, eyes closed, the side of his head bleeding. She tried calling his name but there was no response.

Evelyn pushed herself up and stumbled on unsteady legs. Her side was wet, blood seeping through her armour. She touched it gingerly but didn’t feel any pain. She wondered if that was worse, if it was better to have had it hurt.

She started towards Hawke but stopped when she caught sight of Stroud. The warden was guarding the rift, fighting the demon. But it didn’t seem to notice his blows. It kept advancing on the rift… any minute now it would be through… And if that demon got through, it would be unleashing a monster upon the world – all those people on the other side, they would have no idea – no warning about what was to come -

Wouldn’t it be nice if for once – _once –_ things went according to plan, she thought bitterly. But of course – that would be asking for too much. The Maker did so love to test her.

“Go!” She yelled at Stroud, lifting her left hand.

Stroud’s eyes widened. “No, Inquisitor -”

“Go! _Now!”_ She curled her fingers, pulling at the rift. Stroud, realising what she was about to do, gave her one last look of despair and regret before he turned and leapt through the rift. It was different, trying to close a rift from this side. Seeling herself in with the demons instead of the other way around. The Anchor pulsed, sending a shot of pain up her arm. Evelyn gritted her teeth, refusing to give in.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hawke stirring. But even if he got up right that second, he would never make it through the rift in time. And if she stopped, if she gave him time to get through, there would be no stopping the demon. She was dooming them both, but there was no other way. Evelyn had no choice.

The rift was closing. The faint window of blue sky was getting smaller and smaller. The demon realised what she was doing, was fighting to get through before it closed. She could feel her strength fading, this rift was taking a toll on her, the same way closing the Breach had. Hawke was moving, slowly pushing himself up. She thought she heard him call out to her but she couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears.

She fell to her knees when the rift imploded, gripping her left hand with a cry of pain.

The demon roared, reminding her that the battle wasn’t over yet. But Maker, she was tired. It would be so easy to give in, to let this be it for her. The last stand of the Inquisitor. It would make for a fine story, if Varric didn’t embellish too much. Evelyn stabbed her sword into the blackened earth, used it to push herself back onto her feet. She couldn’t give up. Not when she knew exactly what happened to the world without her mark to stop Corypheus.

That world – the future she had witnessed with Dorian – would never come to pass. Not while she still drew breath.

She reached for her bow, grateful to Cullen and Cassandra for insisting she practice with an array of weapons, and notched an arrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Hawke was on his feet, staff in hand. She let arrow go, watched it sail through the air and pierce one of the demon’s many eyes. She was already reaching for another when Hawke sent a ball of fire hurtling towards the monster.

Evelyn fired arrow after arrow, trying to bring the monster down before it got too close.

Beside her, the mage was leaning heavily on his staff, swaying where he stood, his hair matted with blood. He needed a healing potion, lyrium too by the looks of it. Evelyn looked from him to the demon. They weren’t going to win this fight. Not in the condition they were both in.

“Hawke!” She called after she reached into her quiver and found it empty. “We can’t win! We’ve got to go!”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Now is _not_ the time for jokes!” She snapped. She couldn’t believe this was really a conversation she was having to have. Had he been hit over the head too many times? Was he possessed by a spirit of stupidity? That certainly hadn’t been in the Tale of the Champion. “We stay here, we die!”

She thought she saw him frown, looking like he might protest, but she didn’t wait to hear his response. Evelyn lifted her left hand, curled her fingers, and threw up the mark of the rift. Pain burned up her left arm, like she’d plunged her hand into a fire, but it worked. The demon roared, momentarily stunned, giving them the chance they needed. Evelyn reached out, grabbed the Champion by his elbow, and dragged him along with her as she turned and ran.

She stumbled over chunks of black rock, her heart thundering like a war drum in her chest. This was never in the stories – the part where the hero ran away. It seemed she did it quite often. She’d run from Corypheus, after dropping an avalanche on him, she’d run from the Archdemon at Adamant, and now she was running from the Nightmare. In all the stories she had heard of Hawke, he’d never once run away, never once backed down from a challenge. But there had to be some merit in running like a coward sometimes. If it meant staying alive. Evelyn had to believe that.

There was a fair distance between them and the demon but she wasn’t taking any chances. She kept a firm hold on Hawke’s arm, not convinced that he wasn’t going to do something stupid, like turn back and charge at the demon.

She didn’t know where she was leading them. Their best bet was to find another rift but getting there – even if there was another closeby – would be a challenge. There were demons everywhere, the Nightmare’s giant spider behind them, and they were both worse for wear. When Evelyn saw a crack in the rock, with just enough space for them to squeeze into, she did the only thing she could think to do – she shoved the Champion into the gap and pressed herself against him, hoping they were hidden enough to keep them from sight.

“I’ll admit, normally I like being manhandled by a beautiful woman but -”

Evelyn clamped her hand over his mouth.

She peered over her shoulder, holding her breath as a rage demon slithered by. She could feel the heat coming off it, slinging her eyes, making her forehead sweat. Hawke’s arm slowly wrapped around her, pulling her closer. But the demon didn’t seem to notice them. It moved on. Evelyn released the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes, letting herself relax, if only for a second. But she made the mistake of lowering her hand from his mouth.

Hawke snorted. “If anyone saw us right now, Inquisitor, they might think they’d caught us in a compromising position.”

Evelyn’s eyes snapped open.

Trust her to get stuck in the Fade with the biggest fool in Thedas. Sure, they were pressed flush together, both her hands were braced against his chest, and he had an arm around her, but they were up shit’s creek without a paddle – a little seriousness on his part shouldn’t be too much to ask. She leaned away from him with a huff of exasperation and looked down at her belt. She had four healing potions left and two small vials of lyrium. She pulled out a lyrium potion and pressed it into his hand.

“Here, you need this.”

Hawke glanced down at the potion with a quizzical expression. “Why do you carry lyrium potions? You’re not secretly a mage, are you?”

“They’re not for me. They’re for Dorian. He’s always running out.”

Hawke hummed, sounding disappointed, as if he’d been hoping she’d offer a more sordid reason. She watched him, her gaze hard, until he downed the lyrium potion and handed the empty vial back to her. They needed to conserve their healing potions. She pulled one from her belt, lips twisted in thought, and decided that they’d need to share. She ripped off the cork with her teeth, drank half, and handed it to him.

“How many more you got left?”

“Three. You?”

“Two. I’m all out of lyrium, though.”

Evelyn nodded. They would have to be careful. Her party had survived worse messes. She hadn’t been sure they’d make it out of Emprise du Lion the first time. The fight against the demon Imshael had left them all badly injured. They’d run out of healing potions long before and she’d almost regretted not taking the demon up on his offer. Bull had had to carry Dorian back to camp while she and Cassandra had limped behind him, leaving trails of blood in the snow. It had been quite a shock for those back at the camp when they arrived.

“We should stay here. Rest up for a bit.”

Hawke arched a brow. “Is that an order, Inquisitor?”

She chose not to answer.

Hawke shifted, moving as much as he could, giving her a little more room. She leaned her shoulder against the rock and tipped her head back, watching the sky above them. There was no sun, no stars, nothing but the swirling green and black. It looked just like the Breach. The healing potion was working, the ringing in her ears was gone and her side had stopped bleeding, though the pain in her hand, coming from the mark, hadn’t let up.

“So, what’s the plan?” Hawke eventually asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Don’t get me wrong - as charming as you are, I don’t fancy spending any more time here than I have to. So if you could just – you know – do your thing and get us out of here that would be great.”

As they plummeted to the ground, opening the rift had been instinctual. It felt less like her doing and more like the mark was behaving on its own. In theory, she should be able to do it again. Evelyn closed her eyes and half-turned, outstretching her left hand. She focused her thoughts on _opening_ rather than closing and flexed her fingers. The Anchor burned, sending a burst of pain through her. She tried to focus but -

Nothing.

Her eyes opened and she lowered her hand in defeat.

“Or… not.”

“I’m sorry.” She sighed, clutching her wrist as if it would stop it from aching. “I don’t know how.”

Hawke shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

“I… suppose we’ll just have to find another rift. There are so many, I’m sure it won’t be hard to find one…”

There had been a map. Given to her by Scout Harding, it had shown the locations of all the rifts her scouts come across. She tried to remember what she had seen in the Western Approach. She’d sealed most of the rifts, hadn’t she? She hadn’t brought any of her maps with her. She hadn’t thought she’d need them in the middle of a bloody battle.

“Or Solas.” She murmured, the thought suddenly occurring to her. “If they write to Solas, let him know what happened, he should be able to find us here.”

“That’s assuming they’re not all running about like headless chickens without you.”

Evelyn’s gazed shifted to the mark, something bitter stirring inside of her. It wasn’t her the Inquisition needed, just the mark. Andraste hadn’t chosen her; she’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her receiving the mark was an accident, not fate. Even her own father hadn’t chosen her. It had been Maxwell, her oldest brother, who had been chosen to attend the Conclave. But a nasty fall from his horse a week before the ship was set to sail had left him temporarily bedridden, leaving it up to her.

People believed in her because they thought she was Andraste’s chosen, what would they do once they found out the truth?

“Inquisitor.” Hawke whispered suddenly. He lifted a finger to his lips and looked behind her pointedly. She followed his gaze, looking over her shoulder. There was a demon. A massive Pride demon. Electricity rippled off of it, the ground shaking beneath its feet as it lumbered towards them. It was staring right at them. “I think it sees us.” Hawke added, unhelpfully.

“No shit.” She whispered back.

“We can take it.” Hawke said, already reaching for his staff.

They probably could, but Evelyn shook her head. “It’ll only attract more.”

Hawke sighed dramatically. “ _Fine_. After you then, Inquisitor.”

She dragged in a deep breath before she whirled on her heel and sprinted from the gap in the rock. Hawke followed close behind her, staff in hand. The demon was slow. It wasn’t able to keep up with them. As long as they kept going, they would be fine.

Evelyn still had no idea where they were going. Everything looked the same in this place, it was hard to know if they were retracing their steps or if they were in an entirely new place.

She ran along the dirt track until it ran out. She whirled around, swearing when she realised she’d led them into a dead end. There were more demons, attracted by the activity. She looked around her, frantic, and, seeing no other solution, she gestured for Hawke to give her a boost. The mage helped her scramble up the crags and the rocky cliff face and when she reached the top, she lay down flat and extended her hand. It was hard work but she managed to drag Hawke high enough that he could grip the cliff edge and haul himself over.

The mage rolled onto his back beside her, panting.

She gave him a moment to breathe as she scrambled to her feet and took in the area surrounding them. The vast, endless landscape looked like something from her nightmares. And she supposed it was. What was the Fade, if not a construct of dreams and nightmares?

The living were not supposed to be there. This was a place for spirits and the dead.

And there were so many of them. Spirits floated weightlessly across the ground below them, unanchored and haunting. They did not seem to notice them the same way demons did, nor wish to harm them. She had thought she had seen faces of those she knew in some of the spirits she passed. Faces of those she had lost long ago. But she had dismissed it, put it down as her mind playing tricks on her.

On every side of her was dark rock, ripped with lyrium veins. It all looked the same.

In the distance, she caught sight of an ocean. An ocean, she remembered Solas telling her, filled not with water, but memories. Memories of thousands of years, of countless lives. And above her, the Black City sat high in the sky, it’s dark, twisted spires barely visible through the fog and the darkness. The sight of it made her afraid, for reasons she did not truly understand. 

But just when she thought it was hopeless, far off in the distance, near the shore of the endless ocean, Evelyn caught sight of a glimmer of green.

A rift.

She stumbled back a step, releasing a shuddering breath. The sight did not instil her with much hope. If they were lucky, it would take them days to reach it – and it would take them more time than they most likely had. They didn’t have any supples – no food or water – and were running dangerously low on potions. Hawke’s mana wouldn’t last forever and they had an army of demons between them and their way home. But she couldn’t give up now. It was worth a shot, no matter how unlikely the odds.

“There,” she said and pointed to the rift. “That’s our way out.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Hawke said from where he lay on the ground. She looked over at him, taking him in. The gash on his head still hadn’t healed. Blood was still running through his hair and down the side of his face. Eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed, he looked like he was in pain. She imagined that wasn’t something the Champion of Kirkwall was willing to admit so she walked over and sat down on the uneven ground beside him with a sigh.

“We should be safe here. At least, for now.”

Evelyn unzipped the small pouch attached to her belt and found the elfroot she’d picked along the way to Adamant. She’d grown so used to collecting any herb she found out in the wilds, she had done it without a second thought and forgotten all about it. There wasn’t much else in the pouch, ordinarily she kept everything she needed in her pack, just a couple loose bits of herbs and some seeds she had wanted to plant once they were back in Skyhold.

Cupping her hand and using it as a makeshift mortar, she crushed one of the roots between her fingers and turned it into paste in her palm.

“Hawke. Keep still.” She said before she reached over and carefully smeared the crushed elfroot over the nasty wound above his temple. The mage winced and she murmured an apology under her breath. She cleared the worst of the blood away with her sleeve and brushed his dark hair out of the way, allowing her to examine the wound a little better. He was likely a little concussed, but the wound didn’t look life-threatening. She would just have to keep an eye on it – and him.

“Will I live?”

Evelyn smiled very faintly. “Yes, I think you’ll live.”

“Good.” Hawke laughed quietly to himself. “Because if I don’t get out of here, Fenris is going to kill me.”

Evelyn hummed and wiped her hands on her breeches. She heard all sorts of stories about Fenris, the former slave from Tevinter, not just the ones she’d read in the Tale of the Champion. She had to admit, she was a little curious. There was only so much Varric and his widely exaggerated stories could tell her. She had to bite her tongue to keep from speaking. This was not the time nor the place.

“Although, if you don’t get out of this either, Commander Curly probably beat him to the punch.”

“What?” Evelyn lifted her head, her brows drawing together.

“Come on,” Hawke snorted derisively. “You and I both know Curly will be out for blood if I get you killed.”

 _Cullen._ Evelyn’s lips twisted ruefully. He’d be so worried. As much as he tried to hide it, for her sake, she knew he worried when she was gone. She saw it in the relief in his eyes whenever he watched her party return to Skyhold. She knew to look to the battlements when they road into the courtyard. Rain or shine, day or night, he would always be there. Though the moment she spotted him he would always turn away, cheeks flushed, and try to look like he was in the middle of something. It never failed to bring a smile to her face – something Dorian teased her endlessly for.

She hadn’t seen him before they’d chased after Clarel and Erimond. She hadn’t seen him since the very beginning of the battle, when they’d broken down the gates. She’d told him to be careful. She hoped he’d listened to her.

Evelyn shook her head, forcing all thoughts of Cullen out of her mind. She needed to focus. She picked her sword off of the ground and stood.

“We should keep moving.”

Hawke’s eyes flickered open and he grinned at her. “Now that’s one way to change the subject.”

“I’m not –” She started to say through clenched teeth. But she wouldn’t be baited into having an argument with him. She’d heard enough of his bickering with Varric to know it was something he seemed to enjoy. “It’s not safe here. We need to keep going.”

She slid her sword into the sheath that hung from her waist and looked over her shoulder, eyes seeking out the rift. They had a fair distance to cover. She squinted, trying to mentally map out the best route there. If they remained up high, traversed along the rocks for as long as they could, and then dropped down onto the shore, it lessened the chance of running into too many demons. But the landscape was unstable, gravity seemed to work differently there. She’d witnessed chunks of rock break off for seemingly no reason, seen lyrium veins combust, and granite shatter like glass from a wayward arrow.

But it was a risk she had to take.


End file.
